


Paragon

by Voib



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Canon Divergent, Curses, Dark fic, Depressed Dean, Depression, Jesse James is mentioned, M/M, MCD - not really, Next Week On Supernatural..., Personality Disorder, Reapers, Self Depreciating Thoughts, Self Harm, Suffering, Suicidal Dean, Suicide, Suicide Attempts, The Veil, The gun that killed Jesse James, Thoughts of Suicide, Trigger Warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-01-16 06:49:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12337644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voib/pseuds/Voib
Summary: When Dean is plagued with several symptoms of illness, he becomes a target for a malicious plot against his life. A rogue reaper left with little power makes several attempts on Dean’s life and almost succeeds. With no way to even reach the reaper, will they be able to save Dean in time?





	1. Scorn

**Author's Note:**

> A season 12 cannon divergence. All mistakes are mine. Let me know if you want more; I thrive off of comments and kudos!
> 
> P.S: It says MCD but it’s not _really_ MCD. Just hang with me.
> 
>  
> 
> **P.S.S: There is a massive trigger warning for this fic. Read at your own caution.**

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean had a headache. That’s when everything went to shit.

Dean had a headache. 

It wasn't a usual migraine though, it felt like intense pressure points around his skull like a vice. Sure, Dean got headaches, but nothing like this. He drank enough water (beer, really) and did all of the necessary precautions, but his skull kind of felt like it was splitting apart, so he stuck to Tylenol. They were sitting in the middle of the war room with the lighting low enough to read and not bright enough to create headaches. The lighting didn't seem to be working. Dean was hunched over his book, looking for examples of any kind that might help them with this case. He'd been rubbing his temple raw for the last hour but the headache still persisted. San had even gotten him a glass of water after tossing worried glances his way. Dean's body felt petrified until he twitched his arm to slam the book shut. He leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, just massaging his temples and hopefully, his headache away too. It had gotten to the point where it hurt to think.

"Do you want an... ice pack or something?" Sam tempted Dean carefully. 

Dean drew his eyebrows together and grunted in rejection of the offer. It sounded good but it wouldn't do anything good. Just give him a brain freeze or something. Yikes. 

The pressure seemed to increase tenfold. Dean found himself holding his entire head as imaginary spikes started to drill into the sides of his head. 

"Fuck!" Was the only thing Dean could say in the wake of the agonizing pain. 

Maybe he should get to a hospital? A morgue would probably work better. 

Sam briskly got to Dean's side, holding his shoulder in support. 

"Do you want to lay down?" 

Dean's voice, now nonexistent, spewed a poor excuse of a 'Yes' before Dean was being lightly dragged over to the nearest couch in the living room. Dean moaned in pain before Sam raced down the hallway to get a cold rag. 

The pain was artery bursting and near unbearable. Good thing that Dean had gone to hell, but it might have been breaching that level of pain, too. 

When Sam set the rag on Dean's forehead the pain spiked. Dean quickly ripped it off with a cry of anguish and punched the seat of the couch. 

"Dean -- Dean, what hurts?" Sam hovered over his older brother, grounding him with a touch to the shoulder. 

"Head. Hurts -- so bad. Hurts -" Dean relented with another cry of agony. 

Sam hadn't noticed it before but there were several dark marks appearing along Dean's forehead like a crown. Maybe it was blood vessels bursting? No, not in a pattern like that. They were interspersed at perfect points along his hair line and went into his hair. 

Maybe it was Supernatural? Some kind of witches curse or hex. But they hadn't dealt with a witch in 6 months! The hex wouldn't appear now. 

"Dean, I think we need to go to a hospital," Sam interjected Dean's cries. Dean had become more quiet but he was still in visible pain and had taken to gently rocking back and forth to distract him from the sensation of pain. By the time Sam had grabbed his phone from the war room and had tried to get Dean off of the couch, Dean passed out. Sam fought himself about going to the hospital. Dean seemed almost... fine now, like he wasn't in jeopardy earlier. His face had become much more relaxed. They were between credit card scams right now so they didn’t exactly have the money either. Sam decided against it and hoped that Dean would get better on his own. 

Sam pulled Dean back to his room and checked his temperature before deciding that he was in the green. For good measure, Sam once again put the cold rag on Dean's forehead. He didn't seem to flinch this time. The rag only covered part of the dark spots.

They looked like the color of a blood blister but they almost looked like impalements in Dean's skin. They looked really sore and just on the edge of bloody, like the skin was stabbed with something. 

Sam knew that if Dean woke up, he would either be fine or screaming bloody murder. Sam would know either way, so he assumed it was safe to head to bed. He would get up early to check on Dean and maybe once or twice in the night, but Dean seemed fine. 

Every time Sam got up that night, Dean hadn't moved. Sam checked his pulse once or twice but he was still going strong. Just in a very deep sleep. 

Come morning, Dean had kicked off his blanket, but other than that, he was totally normal. Sam had walked in to check on him and found him staring at the ceiling with groggy eyes. 

"Morning sunshine. How did you sleep?" Sam leaned against the door frame with a cup of coffee. 

Dean rubbed his eyes. "I feel like shit warmed over. What happened?" Dean kicked his feet over the edge of the bed and looked to Sam. 

"You had a headache or something, then started screaming. You had these weird marks appear on your head," Sam frowned. "They're still there actually." 

Dean's eyebrows pinched together and then he shot up and headed for his mirror. 

"What the fuck?" Dean touched a mark and then, like poison, drew his hand back and hissed. "What the hell do you think caused these? We haven't dealt with a witch in a hella'va long time and I'd know if some skank hexed me!" 

"Do you want to call Crowley or Cas? They both know stuff on curses or odd occurrences." Sam pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolling through his contacts. 

"Fuck Crowley. Cas is the only way to go." Dean turned away from the mirror. "I'll call him." 

Sam turned and left the room, searching for a refill of coffee.

__¥__

Dean kicked his feet up on his bed and dialed up Cas. 

He was sorely disappointed when he was met with a voicemail. 

"Hey Cas. Call me back whenever you can. It's urgent. See ya," Brief and conveyed quickly, Dean's style. 

He swung his feet over his bed and left the room, only to sit down on couch and fiddle with his phone. 

Sam was probably reading in his room or some shit, so Dean quickly entered the kitchen and grabbed the leftover Chinese food from the fridge. Without heating it up, he got a fork from the dish drainer and brought everything to his room. 

Dean could hear the telltale ring of his cell phone from his room and quickly answered it before it went to voicemail. 

"Hello Dean," Cas was firm and clipped with his greetings. 

"Hey Cas, where are you at?" Dean wasn't really the kind of guy to tell someone important information over a phone line. "Something happened and we kind of need you at the bunker."

"I'm in Topeka, Kansas. I can get to the bunker shortly. Give me 3 or so hours. See you then," Cas ended the phone call abruptly. While it was kind of rude to do so, it also meant that Cas would get to the bunker more quickly. 

Dean went back to eating his soggy Chow Mein and feeling generally depressed. He just felt so sad today, like nothing could ever go right. Now that he thought about it, it was kind of sudden. He had no real reason to be so withdrawn. He hadn’t thought himself into a hole recently, he was overcome by a blanket of sadness and misery. Maybe it was the weather? 

Dean flicked the TV onto Netflix and continued playing whatever he was watching last. 

__¥__

Somewhere down the line, Dean had fallen asleep to the background sounds of Netflix and was now staring at the ‘Are You Still There?’ screen. He checked his watch and saw that he’d been asleep for 2 hours. 

Why did time have to go so slow when you were waiting on someone? 

Dean stuck his head out of his doorframe, looking for any sign of life in the desolate bunker. 

When he found himself alone, which hadn’t changed in several hours, he walked back into his room and began checking for his stashes of weapons. The gun under his bed and his pillow were always primed and ready so he didn’t really need to clean them. He took out his Colt 1911 and sat down at his desk, pulling it apart with the ease of a weathered soldier. He went through every piece, from the firing pin to the barrel. The systematic movement may have relaxed his body but he was still carrying a heavy soul. Maybe he was meant to be alone?

Dean had had other priorities when he was growing up. Look after Sammy, hunt evil sons-a-bitches, the like. You couldn’t really have friends when you moved every other week. When people found Dean cool and decided to be his friend, Dean enjoyed it as much as he could before moving on. But usually Dean was the new kid and people didn’t talk to the new kid, ‘cuz that’s weird. So Dean was usually left friendless and isolated. It didn’t bother him much then, but looking back, it really bothered him now. 

Dean seriously need to stop thinking about shit like that. Even Sam said that to be positive you had to think positive and all of that hippie crap. Dean was fine and dandy and didn’t have a care in the world. 

Dean was getting restless so he decided on taking a bath. He quickly gathered some comfortable clothes (including the dead guy robe) and walked towards the end of the hall where the private bathroom was. The thing was basically a vintage Jacuzzi and Dean was _so_ going to take advantage of that. 

Dean stripped his clothes off, making sure to take his time and stretch his body. The heat from the bath came in waves, coating the mirrors in steam. Dean put his foot in the bath and winced. It was scouring hot, but that didn’t stop Dean from slowly lowering himself down into the bath. When he laid down, the cascading waterfall that was the faucet had yet to fill the enormous bath. Dean had even gotten luxurious and added some of Sam’s fancy lavender scented epsom salt into the bath. When Dean’s eyes closed, he immediately knew that it was better to keep them open or he was going to fall asleep. 

Dean stared at the dull white paint that lined the ceilings and walls, looking for boring patterns. 

After 30 minutes or so, Dean’s neck started to twinge with pain. Dean tried to adjust his neck so it was at a better angle but the pain kept persisting. Dean sat up in the water, watching it fall down his chest, while he tried to rotate his neck but that just made the pain worse. 

“Ah,” Dean said between a spike of pain. “Fuck.” 

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck, where the pain seemed to be coming from, and got out of the bath. 

Dean was about to wrap the towel around his waist when an unexpected flash of pure torture flared down his spine and back, into where his neck was on fire with pain. 

Dean yelled out and collapsed onto the floor. It felt like a shard of metal had been jammed between his vertebrae. He laid there, face down, on the cold bathroom floor before he eventually passed out. 

__¥__

Cas had obviously come as fast as he could from Topeka. And so when he stepped into an eerily quiet bunker which was usually filled with the sounds of cooking and laughter, he knew something was wrong. He walked into the war room and drew his angel blade, just in case. On the table was a quick note from Sam explaining that he was going to meet up with a few hunter friends to get details on a case and that he would be home late. It was dated back to 3.5 hours ago. 

There was no similar note explaining Dean’s disappearance so Cas crept through the bunker quietly. 

Dean’s room was empty so Cas glided down the hallway, looking for any evidence of human activity. Cas knew better than to call out. His presence would alert any intruders about his whereabouts. 

Cas opened each room slowly and peeked inside before deeming each one safe. Cas eventually made it to the end of the hall only to find the last room locked. If he remembered correctly, this was a private bath. Cas quickly broke the handle off of the door and forced it open. The sight of Dean’s body against the hard floor sent Cas’ heart into a panic. 

He quickly bent down and check for a pulse. It was steady but not as strong as he would have liked. 

Cas worked his arms under Dean’s body and carried him to his bed, careful not to touch the tender back of his skull. He tenderly placed his hand on Dean’s cheek, feeling the stubble there, while he healed Dean’s body. He could tell by where his grace was weaving that Dean had a concussion and some blurry vision, but that was quickly resolved. 

Cas was convinced that it was time to figure out what the hell was going on.


	2. Eeny...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Sam and Cas all in a mush pot of freak out, what’s happening with Dean? 
> 
> Also known as: what the fuck is a gay freak out?

Cas continued to watch the up-and-down of Dean’s chest. He didn’t move for an hour until Sam arrived back at the bunker along with the jingling of keys. Cas felt his grace glaze his eyes with holy light. He reluctantly left the room and stormed into the main hall where Sam was descending the stairs. 

“ _Sam._ I called you _17 times._ Dean passed out in the shower and almost died. But no, you had to talk to some irrelevant hunter about a case. You should have been watching Dean. You know that I can’t always be here for him.” The light eventually faded from his eyes by the end of his little speech, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t pissed. 

“Oh god — is he ok? Where is he?” Sam frantically dropped his keys on the war room table and practically ran towards Dean’s bedroom. Cas followed him. 

Sam was checking his head where it was wrapped. 

“I healed his concussion and any major bleeding that was happening but that was an hour ago. He hasn’t moved since and I don’t want to wake him,” Cas spoke with surety. 

“God — I can’t believe I almost let my brother get killed. I knew he was hurt but I figured that he would be fine. Good old Dean, ya know?” Sam had tears filling his eyes. 

“I am sorry. I overreacted earlier. He just means a lot to me and —“ Cas’ throat closed up. “I am sorry Sam.” 

“No Cas. It’s my fault that he’s like this. You saved him from dying. I should have know better,” Sam continued. 

“Sam. What happened has happened. Let it go. I healed him enough so he should be fine, in pain, but fine.” Cas sighed. 

“You should have seen him earlier.” Sam offered. 

“What happened Sam?”

“Well, he had these deep bruises around his head, kind of like a crown, and he was in a tremendous amount of pain. Like, hell worthy pain. He was freaking out so I dragged him to the couch and he just — passed out.“ Sam’s face made a deep frown. 

Cas turned and looked at the still body that was the elder Winchester. He definitely wasn’t in good shape. 

“We need to do some research. This isn’t anything that I’ve ever seen before, and I’ve seen a lot. Start with the lore on hexes and if that doesn’t give us anything, we can go to primordial runes. Check thoroughly.” 

Cas left the room and quickly wound up in room 7B, thumbing through the archived material. 

Sam took one last look at his brother before he dragged his feet to where Cas had wound up. 

__¥__

It was only 2 hours later when Sam’s neck was giving him cramps when he decided to check in on Dean. He stood up and stretched his back, barely faulting Cas’ attention from his book. He took a detour through the kitchen to get another luke warm cup of coffee before he made his way to Dean’s deathly quiet room. 

The door was left cracked. It felt wrong to leave Dean’s door fully open in such a delicate situation. Sam cleared his throat, hoping that maybe that would disturb Dean enough that he would wake up. 

Of course, it didn’t happen; nothing ever goes right in the lives of the Winchesters. 

Sam pressed the door open with his knuckles before tip-toeing into the room. 

Dean’s face was pale and his mouth was slightly cracked but he looked like he could have moved a few inches. Or, it was Sam’s imagination playing tricks. Who knew? 

Sam carefully studied his brothers face. He could feel his own face getting bunched up like he was about to cry when his eyes moved down Dean’s body to his chest. 

The same old up-and-down rhythm had — stopped. 

Sam dropped his cup of cold, shitty coffee and quickly placed his cold hands on his equally cold brother’s neck. 

There was no thud-thud. There was no life driving Dean’s heart to beat. 

Disregarding decency, Sam slapped his brother across the face in an attempt to wake him up. 

“ _Dean_!” Sam’s face was now as pale as Dean’s. “ _Dean, please!_ ”

Sam made a tight fist with both of his hands and hit Dean over his heart with all of the force that he could. This unorthodox CPR didn’t effect Dean’s heart but instead it made a sickening crack rattle through Dean’s chest. 

“Oh God, oh God.” Sam wiped away hot tears that made his eyes go blurry and distract him from his work. 

Sam could hear pounding footsteps as Cas ran into the room. 

“Move!” Cas pushed Sam aside. 

Cas’ hands flew to Dean’s body as his eyes stormed with grace. 

“His soul is still here. I can start his heart ag— wait. Something else is here.” Cas’ face darkened as he increased his concentration. 

“No! This soul is mine; I have a claim on it —“ Cas seemed to argue with an invisible entity, his face full of expression. A vein popped out of his forehead. 

“Cas, what’s happening?” Sam yelled back to Cas. 

Suddenly, Dean’s whole body jolted and sparked with a blue light. The lightning bolts busted the bulbs on one of the bedside lamps before dissipating. 

Cas’ eyes turned back to the normal blue before he passed out; exhausted to breaking. 

Dean’s body was no longer leached of life and was back to full color and sweating profusely. 

Sam quickly lifted up Cas and set him beside Dean. Thank god for king size beds, you could fit a professional monster hunter _and _an angel of the lord on them.__

__Sam really needed a drink._ _

____¥___ _

__Dean woke up the next hour. Sam had been trying to cool both Dean and Cas with soaked rags before Dean came coughing and stuttering to life._ _

__He tried to sit up, which Sam assisted him with, while letting out chest heaving coughs._ _

__The awful sound must have woken Cas up because, like a corpse reanimated, he just sat right up and asked for a cup of tea._ _

__It was a strange situation but Sam was just happy that his brother and best friend were alive._ _

__“You want tea? I can make tea. I can make you a 50 gallon barrel of tea if you want. Fuck, you can have all of the tea in the world. You want tea, you got tea.” Sam knew that that was the shock speaking but he didn’t really care at the moment._ _

__Dean quietly raised a hand in the middle of his coughing fit._ _

__“Get — me —some.” Dean said through each cough._ _

__Sam nodded at least 20 times before his brain caught up and he was turning towards the kitchen to boil some water._ _

__When Sam was gone, Dean turned to Cas._ _

__“What the ( _cough _) fuck was ( _cough _) that?” Dean’s brows furrowed._____ _

______“I am unsure. It seems that something wanted to take your soul. I didn’t allow it to, of course, but it put up a fight. It wasn’t a demon or angel or anything, but it wasn’t a reaper either. We need to do some research.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Dean nodded his head in agreement._ _ _ _ _ _

________¥___ _ _ _ _ _

______The rest of the day went relatively normal after that. They all started to research and had numerous cups of tea, intermittently divided by food breaks. No one seemed to find any piece of lore useful, though._ _ _ _ _ _

______Sam’s watch started beeping when it was 1am and signaled that they all needed some well deserved sleep. Sam went down his side of the hallway to his room but Dean and Cas lingered._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Dean, can I sleep with you?” Cas asked innocently._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Sure. I don’t really want to die again. I don’t remember any of it but I know it wasn’t fun.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Dean grabbed an extra blanket from a closet before they both walked to his room and draped it across the bed._ _ _ _ _ _

______“You know what?” Dean asked._ _ _ _ _ _

______“What?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“This bed isn’t as inviting anymore. Now that I know that someone died on it, it’s kinda creepy.” Dean laughed at his own poor joke before he noticed Cas staring at him very ... disappointed._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Too soon?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Cas didn’t even respond._ _ _ _ _ _

______Dean stripped down to his tee shirt and boxers before crawling into the bed. Cas simply draped his trench coat over the back of a chair before he undressed to his boxers._ _ _ _ _ _

______Cas lifted the covers meticulously got under the sheets. The cold sheets were soothing to his hot body._ _ _ _ _ _

______The memory foam did, in fact, feel nice._ _ _ _ _ _

________¥___ _ _ _ _ _

______Come morning, Cas was woken with a start when Dean grabbed his torso and tried to pull him closer in his sleep. It was strange in itself that he had fallen asleep, but he had used large quantities of grace yesterday._ _ _ _ _ _

______What was even stranger was the little frown that was playing across Dean’s lips._ _ _ _ _ _

______Cas gently touched his jaw and used his grace to smooth away the bad dream. Cas really didn’t want to know what it was about but he let himself leach into the dream just a little. He didn’t get a full picture, just images of Hell fire and the sounds of screaming. But now the dream was about catching a prize winning salmon at a major river somewhere._ _ _ _ _ _

______Anything pleasant for a troubled Winchester._ _ _ _ _ _


	3. Meeny...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Massive trigger warning for self harm, suicide/attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts and actions and some gore and blood. Please, stay safe and read at your own caution. There has been a rating change. 
> 
> Something is wrong with Dean.

The next day went over smoothly with Sam and Cas keeping an eye on Dean. They were incident free for the entire day and feeling good about it. 

Even if Dean had literally died, he seemed to forego it and made some killer burgers that night which Sam and Cas deeply appreciated. 

They all planted themselves on the couch in front of the big screen with some shitty ‘60s zombie movie playing, courtesy of Dean. 

Dean had, of course, progressively gotten closer and closer to Cas throughout the night before falling asleep on his shoulder. Cas smiled pointlessly at the screen while several people were getting their CGI intestines ripped out; he could only think about Dean. 

Sam eventually got annoyed at the slow paced movie and when Dean fell asleep, he made a break for his room before waving goodnight to Cas and smirking a little towards the sleeping Dean. 

Cas had eventually decided to carry Dean to his room. The old hallways were surprisingly creak-less as 300+ pounds of weight were forced onto them. 

Cas quietly opened the door with his free hand and gently set Dean down on his bed. He pulled off Dean’s watch and set it on the bedside table before removing his trench coat and the rest of his heavy clothes. He should think about investing in some pajamas. 

Making sure that Dean was tucked in tight, Cas wiggled his way under the covers and timidly gave Dean’s jaw a quick kiss before he fell into a deep, comfortable sleep. 

__¥__

The next day was dedicated to more timeless research as Sam and Cas tried to figure out what the hell happened to Dean. 

Dean had gone out for a food run to Biggerson’s so Sam and Cas were once again left alone. 

“When you brought Dean back, you said that you saw something or something was there with you.” Sam asked, intrigued. 

“Oh. I’d almost forgot about that. I don’t know exactly how to explain it but there was a second... wavelength that was influencing Dean. Usually, since I left a metaphorical brand on Dean’s soul, I can feel my grace’s wavelengths but there was something else. I couldn’t tell just by wavelengths but there’s something that’s living in this bunker.” 

Sam felt his hairs raise on his arms while he tried to process what Cas had just said. Now that he thought about it, he felt like he was being watched. He side-eyed the long corridor that led to their bedrooms, but his hunter instincts told him that nothing was there. 

“And this thing, it tried to kill Dean?” Sam said after clearing his throat. 

“Yes. It tried to take his soul. Usually a soul that was taken from a human would render the human soulless, Dean’s soul is basically... stitched into his body because I had to put it back together. There was a possibility that it would become unstable and kill him, so I just “stitched” it into his body.” Cas said with air quotes. 

“Uh, ok. That makes sense. But what does it want?” 

“I am unsure. It didn’t seem to be at full power. It shied away from my grace when usually my grace wouldn’t hurt something at full power.” 

Sam ended the conversation with a quiet ‘hmm’ before turning back to his book.

__¥__

Dean was doing fine that day. Maybe a little run down, but fine. He felt like he’d been in a foggy state — like fighting off a head cold — but he knew he wasn’t sick; Cas wouldn’t allow that. 

He got as far as the Impala before he just kind of... collapsed. He felt the wave of depression that had been lingering all day sweep him away. 

He quietly sat down on the bench seat and shoved the keys in the ignition, but didn’t allow the engine to turn over. 

He rested his head on the back of the seat and just stared at the roof of the Impala. It was black, dull and boring. But it was clean, and Dean was proud of that. 

But what else had Dean been proud of? It wasn’t like he’d had much success in life. He became a monster hunter who barely made a dent in the world. 

He didn’t have a mother, his father never cared and he’d messed up with Sam more times than he could count. Sam wasn’t supposed to get hooked on demon blood or fuck a demon, for that matter. But it still happened because Dean had allowed it.

He was such a miserable fuck up. 

At this point, Dean’s neck was cramping so he decided to actually do something right for once. He quickly started the Impala and pulled out of the garage. It wasn’t like he could fuck up grocery shopping; he’d been doing it for years. 

The store didn’t absolutely nothing to help Dean’s mood. The stupid lady in front of him with 5 bags of cat litter was to blame. Her and the guy buying a literal gallon of lube and arguing about the price with the cashier. 

Dean checked his phone during his wait: no notifications. Of course there was notifications, it wasn’t like anyone cared about what Dean did anyway. No one called him to make sure he was still alive. No one really cared anymore; The world was better off without him. 

Dean abruptly snapped back into it a quickly payed for his beer and produce (for Sam. Yuck) and left the chain store. The bag on his lettuce had soaked through (they watered the vegetables recently) and promptly fell to the ground in a clattering heap. 

“Fuck!” 

A nearby soccer mom glared at him while put her groceries away in her trunk. He glared right back. 

He bent down and picked up the lettuce and his stupid bag of chips. 

Everything was useless and Dean was too. He couldn’t even bag some fucking leaves right. He was an idiot that should just end himself. 

When he forced the groceries back into the makeshift broken bag he accidentally dropped a can of beans which he promptly kicked across the parking lot. 

Whatever. He didn’t care anymore. 

__¥__

Dean had blasted his music so loud that his ears were ringing as he entered the bunker and he couldn’t hear Cas’ initial greeting. 

“Hello Dean.” Cas said again, louder. 

Dean grunted in reply and started unloading the ripped bag first. 

Thank god that Sam was no where in sight so he didn’t see the beaten up lettuce. 

Cas started unpacking the second bag and they quietly did that in companionable silence until they finished the task. 

“Are you ok?” Cas asked quietly. 

Dean sighed. “Yeah, I’m ok. Just the people at the damn store we’re awful. A whole lot of complaints and shit. I’m good though.” 

Cas didn’t want to push Dean too much so he accepted the poorly formed answer. 

“If you ever need to talk, I’m here,” Cas spoke with a polite smile. 

“Yeah. Can we go to bed yet? I’m tired.” Dean threw the ripped paper bag in the trash and looked up at Cas. 

“While it is only 5 o’clock, yes, we can go to bed.” Cas quirked an eyebrow and smiled. 

__¥__

It was 3 hours later when Sam finally got something from his aimless research. He quickly walked down the hall with his boots clanging against the ground, a paper in his hand. 

He threw open the door to Dean’s bedroom.

“Dean, Cas, I got something.”

All he got in return was sleepy scowls as Dean and Cas glared at him from their bed cocoon. 

“I think that the thing in the bunker is a reaper. I don’t know what kind yet, but it’s probably a hurt reaper. I mean, what else ya arhe ability to take souls? I have some more stuff in the war room if you want to look.” Sam looked at them expectantly. 

Dean sighed. “Sure thing. We’ll get there in a sec,” Dean said in a monotonous tone. 

Dean pulled a robe over his jeans (which he somehow slept in. Quite uncomfortable) and put some slippers on while Cas got his trench coat. 

They were at the doorway that led to the bunker when Dean suddenly asked, “Since when do you sleep?” 

“Well, I’ve always been able to sleep, it was just dangerous or unnecessary to do. But I like sleeping with you. You’re warm. I don’t dream though; that’s a human thing.” Cas smiles gently. 

Dean once again got reminded that his date-mate (since Cas wasn’t even technically male) was a literally ball of celestial light. 

Dean hummed. He wasn’t exactly sure how he got with Cas but he didn’t exactly care either. But Dean really wasn’t worthy of Cas anyway. Cas would eventually leave again, but this time permanently. Everyone always left Dean. Always. 

__¥__

The research that Sam pulled up was sketchy, kind of vague and really old. It was one of those obscure books the Supernatural that had a section on reapers less than a page long. It was quite sad that Sam was betting on the scantily written passages. 

Since they had a thread to go on, they all started pulling out books from the bunker’s shelves, since the internet brought nothing up. 

They found nothing but general knowledge that they had all known before. 

They checked John’s journal and found nothing. 

Dean gave up and started making everyone a PB&J in the bunkers kitchen. 

The swishing of the butter knife across the bread was alluring. The knife glinted in the dim sun and cut through the peanut butter so easily. They were weird thoughts but Dean supposed it was because of the mind numbing research. 

He must’ve swiped the peanut butter across the bread 60 times before he brain tossed him a quiet thought: what would it feel like across his skin? 

The silver glint of the butter knife cutting open his skin like butter. He gently brought the butter knife down to his wrist and pressed into his skin. The knife barely cut him because it was so dull. 

Dean reached into an open door and grabbed a paring knife. He placed the tip above his tendons and in a gliding move, cut his wrist open. 

The blood was pouring out before he realized what was happening and quickly put a spare towel over it. He put as much pressure as he could before his hand was cramping. 

He had zero explanation as to why he had just done what he had. His only thought was that it was easier with a paring knife than a butter knife. 

He thought briefly about Alistair and how he would have done it. Alistair would have used a pick axe and crushed the tendons and tiny bones inside of his hand. 

He tried to move his hand but one of his fingers refused to move. At this point he completely disregarded the notion of pain. He was comfortably numb and the numb traveled all the way to his brain. He didn’t really care that he just cut the veins and tendons in his wrist or that the blood was slowly dripping out of the towel and into the sink. 

He must’ve been in there way too long because Cas walked into the kitchen. 

“Dean? Are you ok? What are you holding a towel?” 

Cas must’ve seen the ruby blood dripping down the towel because he quickly grabbed Dean’s wrist and gently turned it towards himself, only removing the towel as gently as he could. 

He could see the bones of Dean’s wrist before they closed up with a pulse of grace. 

“Dean what happened? You need to talk to me.” 

Cas was talking but Dean’s mind was somewhere else. The feeling of blood dripping down his arms had always felt good, whether it was his own or not; this incident only helped him remember. 

“Fine, don’t talk. Let’s get you to bed, huh?” Cas guided Dean down the hall and into the room where he was laid on the bed. Dean stared at the ceiling for 5 minutes, unblinking, before he shut his eyes and promptly nodded off to sleep. 

Something was wrong with Dean. A skilled hunter for all of his life would never accidentally cut himself, and never that deep. Dean had done that on purpose, Cas knew it. 

Cas sighed before laying down next to Dean and watching him sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are mine. There has been a rating change.


	4. Miney...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean just needs a bandaid, is all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Suicide, depreciating thoughts. Be safe y’all.

The next morning, Cas gently checked on Dean’s scars where the wounds had been. He left him to sleep in some more and went to find Sam. 

Sam was just wandering out of his bedroom with nothing but weary eyes and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Sam. We need to talk about Dean.” Cas had stopped in front of Sam, stopping him from moving any further down the hallway. 

“Why? Uh, what’s up with Dean?” Sam rubbed his eyes. 

“Well, last night when he was cooking, he cut his wrist.” 

“I don’t really see what’s wrong with that...? Accidents happen and even to the best of us.” Sam asked quizzically. 

“You don’t understand. Dean cut his wrist open to the bone on purpose. I was walking into the kitchen because he had been in there for over 20 minutes and I found him with significant blood loss and a hint of a blood clot.” Cas was sure to add emphasis to every gore filled detail. 

“Are you saying that Dean... tried to kill himself?” Sam looked at him in disbelief. 

“Maybe, maybe not. What I am saying is that Dean hasn’t been himself since those marks appeared on his body.” 

“I — I’ll get to research. Can you help? We need to get through the lore as quick as possible.” 

Cas nodded and quickly followed after Sam. 

__¥__

Dean was woken up by a jolting going through his body. It felt he had been gently shocked but he knew it was just his body trying to shake off the sleepy feeling. 

God, it felt so good to just sleep. Kinda like practicing for death, only better because you could still eat pie. 

Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His entire body felt heavy but his mind felt numb. He decided that he was still tired, but he didn’t lay down in his bed. He decided that the best way to start his morning (according to the alarm clock it was a little past 1 PM, but it wasn’t like Dean cared. His room didn’t have windows so any time he woke up was morning) was with a good old shot of Jack. 

Dean felt under his bed for the telltale neck of a whiskey bottle. This bottle was new and still unopened, the pristine seal shining in the dim room. 

He quickly broke the seal and took a deep drink, letting it slip into his system. 

He stood up and felt a little dizzy. He couldn’t remember, but he mustn’t have eaten dinner last night. Damn low blood sugar. 

He looked around his room to the glistening guns that decorated the walls, all spaced out evenly over the expanse of his wall. They were so alluring right now. 

Dean grabbed his 44 caliber that had killed Jesse James. He had snagged it from an auction house when they were moving the items in to be sold. It was a little piece of history and one of Dean’s favorite guns. 

He sighed and threw it on his bed. It didn’t seem so special now. Why he had it? He didn’t know. He could have let it get auctioned off to save orphans or something; he didn’t know, didn’t care. 

Dean found himself with a rumbling stomach and nothing to do about it. He didn’t want to talk to Sam and Cas and have to wear a mask and he sure as hell didn’t want them asking questions. 

Dean took another drink of whiskey. 

He wasn’t so cold now. The whiskey had heated up his body and caused it to numb all of his aches and pains. He let it wash over him like a piss poor car wash. 

Eventually he had drunk enough so he passed out. His eyes slowly became blurry where he was staring at the wall. 

He slowly fell into darkness with the 44 tucked to his chest. 

__¥__

Another night went by with Dean waking up in a cold sweat. It was dark in his room and Cas wasn’t there. He probably decided to continue researching. But Dean couldn’t blame him; no one wants to sleep in the same bed as a worthless fuck up. 

Great, Dean thought, the whiskey had worn off. 

He felt the cool metal of the 44 on his chest. What did people do with guns again? Oh yeah, they blew their heads off or killed others in a last ditch attempt at living life. Dean didn’t even know why he liked guns. 

Dean sighed and sat up, cocking the gun and pulling the trigger. The chamber was empty so all Dean heard was the little click of the firing pin. 

He reached over to his bedside table where he kept the key to the little lock box under his bed. He knelt on the ground and pulled the gray metal box out. 

The lid slid open and revealed his expensive bullets that were over 100 years old and casted in gold. They were specialized for the 44 that was still lying on the bed. 

He grabbed 2 bullets and locked the box up again. They slid easily into the revolver. 

He closed his eyes and spun the revolver then quickly clicked it back into the gun. 

Dean thought it was funny cause he had seen this in a western once. 

He pulled the firing pin back and pressed the cold metal to his temple. God, they needed to adjust the thermostats so Dean’s room got more heat. 

Once again, and hopefully for the last time, Dean sighed and sat up straight. 

The metal was warming up now and he could feel the circular indentation it was making on the side of his head. 

Dean truly hoped that no one brought him back. He’d be pissed if Sam or Cas made a deal. 

Dean pulled the trigger and wasn’t surprised when he heard only the gentle click of the firing pin. It was a 2/6 chance anyway. 

He held his breath and pulled the trigger again. The pin clicked. A 2/5 chance now. His odds were shaky. 

He had started to get sweaty. The real ness of the situation was getting to him. The gun started sliding down his temple; he lifted it again. 

C’mon, one more time. 

The guns firing pin struck primer where it then made a spark which lit the gun powder. The bullet raced down the chamber and into the nearest wall. 

Huh. The gun had slipped again. But no, it wasn’t the guns fault. Dean couldn’t even hold a gun still, that’s how worthless he was. 

He put the gun back to his head. Sam and Cas would probably be there in 7 seconds; he’d calculated it before. 

6 seconds, Dean cocked the gun. 

5 seconds, he repositioned it. 

He could already hear the feet creeping up the hallway. 

4 seconds. Dean knew it would work this time. He’d put the bullets next to each other in the revolver. 

3 seconds. Now or nothing. 

Sam and Cas were outside the door, trying to be quiet as to not alarm the intruder that didn’t exist. 

Dean pulled the trigger and everything went black. 

__¥__

Cas had been reading about the known laws of the souls limits when he heard the first gunshot. Sam’s bloodshot, now awake eyes snapped up and his had immediately grabbed the gun attached underneath the war table before hurrying down the hallway as quiet as he could. Cas quietly teleported behind him while they snuck down the hall. They couldn’t see an intruder nor hear any sounds of a struggle. 

They came to Dean’s door when they heard another gunshot before rushing inside to find the room empty. Or so it seemed. 

On the other side of the bed was Dean with a gaping would in his head and a gun in his hand. Cas didn’t even think and quickly forced his grace into Dean’s body where it started building the pieces of Dean’s skull back together and pulling the bullet out of his frontal lobe. 

“Please Dean.” Cas heard Sam say. 

The bullet popped out of Dean’s head and fell to the floor with a clink. 

The wound still wasn’t healed and Cas was running out of time. 

He concentrated as hard as he could on forcing Dean’s soul inside of his body and on trying to fix Dean’s head. 

But it didn’t seem to work.


	5. Moe...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean undergoes... construction.

Dean found himself quietly waiting inside of a room. He didn’t know why he had to wait quietly, just that he had to. So he say there with his hands between his knees and concentrating on being as quietly as (not?) humanly possible. 

Eventually the white, monstrous room morphed into a field, but Dean didn’t think much of it. 

The cool grass contrasted perfectly with the warm sun that was beating down on his back. There was a person here flying a kite among the beautiful foliage and a warm summer breeze flowing through Dean’s hair. 

Dean laid down on the grass and enjoyed his time there. Everything was comfortable and peaceful; a place where words like “pain” and “hate” didn’t exist. 

He could definitely get used to this, he was floating on cloud 9.

__¥__

“Sam, listen to me. I am going to exit my vessel and go into Dean’s. Catch my vessel when it falls.” 

Sam had zero time to question about consent before he was catching the ex-body of Jimmy Novak. He laid the body on the ground as a gently as he could before he once again sat beside Dean’s body. 

 

Cas navigated through many memories, through trauma, pride, failure before he eventually found the active, aware part of Dean’s brain. The memories were complacent and dead, no longer built upon by the human soul. The active part, however, was constantly taking new emotions and experiences in and compartmentalizing them. 

Cas found Dean’s active soul and found himself in a familiar field. It made little sense why Dean’s active soul was in Cas’ heaven but Cas didn’t think much of it when he saw Dean. 

“ _Dean!_ ” Cas called out. 

Dean didn’t seem to notice and continued staring at the peaceful blue sky. 

Cas speed walked over to Dean and firmly grabbed his shoulder. 

“Dean. You have to get out of here and back to Sam. You soul is at risk of leaving your body or collapsing. We need to leave right now.” Cas pulled on Dean’s shoulder but he didn’t cooperate. 

“Hello, Cas. There’s no need to leave. We have everything we need right here. Look, there’s even a little pond over there. I think I brought my swim trunks, let’s go.” Dean was chipper and fake sounding but Cas was too shocked to stop him from standing up and walking over to the too-pristine-to-be-real pond. 

Cas tugged on Dean’s shoulder and turned him around. “We’re leaving. Where’s the exit?” Cas was getting nervous; time was running out. 

“I don’t know what that is. Let’s go to the pond.” Dean replied cheerily.

Cas groaned and quickly left Dean’s active soul. He scoured through memories for what felt like ages before he found himself empty handed. He quickly returned to the active soul where Dean was floating gently on the surface of the pond, staring eerily at the sun without blinking. 

Dean was clearly in Cas’ own heaven but it was a different version, like a second Mona Lisa. 

_Think Cas, think._

Fuck, that was it. The pond. Cas’ heaven never had a pond because Cas never understood why you would ever want to get into a deep, filthy body of water. 

Dean had been leading him there the entire time. 

Cas ran to the edge of the pond and started looking for something that would get them out like a stick or something that could be a door. He was getting desperate when he found nothing. He groaned and got into the muddy water where Dean was still floating along. He felt for the bottom when the pool started getting deeper. Cas didn’t need to breathe so he was fine fully submerging himself for minutes at a time. 

The pond had a sudden drop off where it quickly dove down to 15 feet deep. Cas let himself sink to the bottom when he saw it: a moss covered rope sticking out from the bottom. He swam to it and pulled and was awarded with a slight glowing before he closed it and swam back to the surface.

Now for the hardest part: getting Dean. Cas grabbed Dean around the waist and said a quick sorry before he forced Dean down to the bottom of the pool. Air bubbles came out of Dean’s lungs as he screamed and fought Cas off. Cas could feel Dean drowning. 

Three times Cas’ hand slipped while pulling on the moss covered rope. Each time left Dean with less air flowing to his brain. When Cas eventually got a grip and pulled the rope and door open, Dean had passed out. The door was open with a bright light spilling into the lake and lighting Dean’s features up. Cas pushed Dean into the door and then forced himself up into... a beach? 

The hot sand burned his vessels hands while Dean still laid there unconscious. Cas quickly started into a round of grace induced CPR before Dean was coughing and sputtering out water. 

The beach was empty except for 3 other people who had begun walking towards Dean and Cas, their features almost discernible. They all varied in height slightly and Cas was surprised he hadn’t seen it before. It was him, Dean and Sam all in swimming trunks walking down the beach. They were all smiling and laughing at something that Dean had said. The real Dean was still laying on the ground and trying to catch his breath with water and saliva dripping down his face.

Cas brought his attention back to the real Dean. His body was working fine but his mind seemed to be absent. His kept staring at the sun, just like in the last heaven.

The door was surprisingly easy to find this time. It was underneath a nearby lounge chair. The handle still took the form of a rope which Cas quickly pulled on and opened. The light emanating from the door was more blinding than the sun. 

Cas carried Dean bridal style to the door and all but threw him into it. 

Cas emerged in the bunker but he wasn’t in his vessel. He scaled his form to meet the size of Dean’s room where he saw Sam still crouched over Dean’s body. He didn’t know how he got back to the bunker and out of Dean’s mind but he had to tell Sam that he was in the room. He definitely knew that he couldn’t let Sam hear his true voice so he quietly entered Jimmy Novak’s body once again. 

“Sam. I was in Dean’s active soul and it was so wrong. There were 2 and I forced him though both doors but —“ 

“Woah. Calm down Cas. Dean’s pulse is back and he’s just unconscious right now. I don’t know what you did but I think it worked. Did you say that there were doors? Like a heaven?” 

“Where ever he was, it acted exactly like a heaven. I had to find the doors to get out. It had to have been heaven, but he had 2 different ones,” Cas was getting frantic in searching for an explanation. 

“2 heavens? Why?” Sam said out loud. 

“One of them was on a beach, probably Hawaii or some tropical place and the other... it was my own personal heaven. I don’t understand why Dean would ever have access to it. It’s not even in the human soul sanction of heaven only —“ Cas’ face twisted. “It’s only for angels. Maybe... Maybe because of our bond, Dean was able to go to my own heaven. That would make sense but his soul can’t be in 2 places at once. It’s impossible to split a soul between 2 heavens.” 

“What do you think it means?”


	6. Dazed and Confused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a short chapter, I have Depression™️

Their answer came exactly 2 days later when Dean woke up. It happened in a split second. 

Dean went from breathing gently in his bed, to springing up, cocking his colt and aiming it at Cas’ chest. 

“ _Who the hell are you?_ ” Dean demanded. Dean’s eyes were wild while trying to watch Cas and figure out his surroundings. 

Cas slowly brought his hands up and while retaining his calm manner. Even if Dean shot him during his memory lapse, he would be fine. 

“I’m Castiel. We’ve been friends for 10 years, give or take, and you’ve recently started dating me. I will not harm you. Sam, if you remember him, is down the hallway in room 21 —“ Cas was cut off by Dean brushing past him while still aiming the gun. 

The pounding footsteps down the hall must have woken Sam, because he came out of his room carrying Ruby’s knife. Dean quickly aimed his gun at Sam’s head. 

“ _Who the hell are you and what did you do with my brother?!_ ” Dean barely waited for an answer before moving his gun slightly and taking a shot at the bunkers concrete walls. 

Sam’s hands were by his head but he had ducked and covered to avoid the ricochet and bits of concrete that flew from the wall. Sam was jarred by the sudden gun shot and you could tell by his expression that his ears were ringing. 

“Dean — Dean. I’m your brother and your having some kind of psychotic break. I’m your brother and I need you to calm down. _Please_.” Sam’s harsh breathing punctuated every sentence. 

“Yeah? How do I not know you’re some kind of demon?” Dean sneered. 

“Because I’ve done the tests 1000 times and I can do them again. Just let me get some silver and I’ll — I’ll do it, ok?” Sam slowly placed his hand on his door knob and opened the door to prevent creaking. He slowly backed into the room, hands still in the air, while Dean followed him just as fast back into the room. 

¥

Cas was still down the hall when Sam and Dean came out of the room. Sam had a fresh slice across his forearm that he was holding with his other hand. Dean still had the gun to his head, unfortunately. 

They walked down the hall towards Cas. Sam’s head kept bumping against the barrel of the gun and Cas could see him wince. He kept his head steady though, and looked straight ahead. 

Cas still had his hands up when Sam and Dean approached from a safe distance. 

Dean gestured with his gun, “Who the hell is he?” 

Cas put his hands down and stepped forward, Dean’s gun immediately traced his steps. 

“I am Castiel. You and I are... dating. I’m an angel and we met in a barn. That’s all I am going to say because I don’t know what you know.” From Sam’s perspective, Cas had some real puppy eyes going on. 

Dean seemed to mill it over before he spoke. “Prove it. Angel’s don’t exist and I sure as hell know it.” Dean’s face was still tight with a sneer. 

“As you wish. Sam you might want to cover your ears.” Cas watched as Sam quickly covered his head, blatantly ignoring Dean’s orders to not move. 

Just like when they had first met. Cas let some of his true form leak into the earthly plane. His eyes flowed blue and his wings created harsh silhouettes against the bunkers grey walls. His true voice made mere whispers before Dean collapsed, dropping his gun and covering his ears. 

Cas brought himself back into his vessel and quietly picked up Dean’s abandoned gun before pocketing it. He went over to where Dean was still bracing himself and tapped his forehead, sending him to sleep. Sam had stood up and had a slight nosebleed. Cas picked Dean up and started carrying him back down to the bunkers dungeon, a begrudged Sam following after.


	7. Stairway to Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, edition 1.2.1, has completed download. Restart for more information.
> 
> PS: I have depression

Heavy chains sat on Dean’s feet, his wrists and across his neck. They had stripped Dean practically to his underwear, checking for any kind of lock picking device or weapon that could be used against them before putting his clothes back on as they were. They found only a couple small picks in his flannel pockets and (unsurprisingly) his belt in a hand-stitched little loop. Who knew Dean could sew? 

Eventually it was time for Dean to wake up. They poured some ice water over his head, and when that didn’t work, Cas woke him up with a little grace. 

“Who are you and what year is it?” Sam started off. It was a little funny seeing his brother strapped into the dungeon again but Sam quickly brushed it off. Those were strenuous times. 

Dean glared at the both of them before spitting on their shoes. 

“If you talk, we won’t key the Impala. We can drag you down to the car port if we have to,” Sam threatened. 

Dean’s glare darkened. 

“Fine. Don’t talk. I’ll just have Cas scour your memories in excruciating detail. Every. Single. One.” Sam looked quite smug. He really didn’t want to know what was happening in Dean’s head but hey. Desperate times and all that. 

Cas lifted his hand and started reaching for Dean’s head when Dean jerked away. “Fine! I’ll goddamn tell you. It’s 2006 and I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you better let me go or I swear to god...” 

“Interesting. And you have no idea who this is?” Sam gestures to Cas. 

“Why the fuck would I know?” Dean pulled at his chains. 

“Do you know who you are?” 

“Sure as shit. I’m Dean and I want to get the fuck out of this nuthouse,” Dean confirmed. 

“Do you remember anything about dreaming? Anything with a pond or a beach?” Cas spoke with a frown tugging at his lips. 

“I dunno. Maybe. It’s all kinda fuzzy,” Dean shrugged the best he could in 35 pounds of chain and diverted his eyes. 

“I could sift through your memories..?” Cas slyly reminded him. 

“Oh, I remember. There was a pond and shit and someone was drowning me then I was on some kinda beach where I couldn’t see anything other than this really fucking bright light,” Dean shrugged again. 

“You were staring at the sun.”

“Oh that makes a lot of sense,” Dean started to bounce his knee. 

A moment of silence passed before Sam quietly called Cas into the hall. They spoke in whispers. 

“Can’t we just go into his head again? There has to be something there. He’s having some kind of mental fracture or block and can’t we just fix it like you fixed my head?” Sam suggested with a sigh. 

“No, this is something different. Whatever started this didn’t know what it was doing but it must have started some kind of unwinding curse. Between that and the suicide attempts, it’s clearly weak. It probably can’t do much now, we just have to find out how to unwind it. And fast.” Cas grimaced. He hated that this was happening to Dean. Since gaining human emotions, Cas was most receptacle to Dean’s. He seemed to tune in to his body language and expressions and mirrored them. He could tell that Dean was upset, no matter what time period he was from. 

“We’re going to have to try and make Dean go through the doors again, but other ones. There must have been something that I missed last time. A key or something tainted, off. I — I am unsure though. I could be wrong. I’ve never dealt with something of this capacity before.” Cas’ face was struck with emotion. 

“We’ll do anything that we have to, Cas,” Sam reassured him. 

“For Dean.” 

Sam nodded, “For Dean.”

¥

Sam and Cas re-emerged into the dungeon turned interrogation room. Dean was still in the same place but he looked significantly more tired and didn’t have the same spark that he had had only 5 minutes prior.

Even though this Dean would likely cooperate, they didn’t feel like explaining and Cas quickly put him to sleep again before closing his eyes and plunging head first back into Dean’s active mind. 

 

Once again, Cas was greeted with Dean’s off-brand heaven and with Dean floating away in the same algae ridden pond. His white shirt was getting stained by the muck and mucus in the pond, but he didn’t mind. 

Cas thought back to the last time he was here. The first Dean had lead him to the pond which had later progressed the curse on Dean. It was likely that the first Dean was coerced into luring Cas to the pond. So Cas would simply do the opposite. 

Cas walked around looking for any kind of height until he found the tallest tree in the park, only singled out by an extra few feet, and started climbing. He noticed that Dean had slowly gotten out of the pond and was walking closer with glazed eyes. It’s pained Cas to see Dean this was but he was going to fix. He was going to fix all of it. 

Cas climbed the cottonwood until sap was sticking inside of the little cuts that had been generating on his hands. He climbed until he could see almost the whole park and kept climbing. During some point, the zombie that was Dean had started climbing too and was slowly advancing on Cas. Cas hoped he wasn’t a threat.

¥

Sam had been pacing back and forth in the dungeon when Dean suddenly jolted straight up and his eyes rolled back slightly. He eventually fell limp again but Sam caught his head before it crashed back into the metal of the chair. His body started jerking in little increments which moved the metal chair ajar and almost smashed Sam’s toe.

Eventually the seizure had stopped but San was worried about what had just happened inside of Dean’s head. 

Cas’ statue like body eventually relaxed back to a more natural standing state and Cas blinked awake. 

“Cas, what the hell? Dean started having a seizure. What happened?” Sam breathed. 

“I figured that since the first Dean had lead me to a pond and to a lower elevation, that he was trying to distract me from the real solution. I found the tallest tree I could find and I climbed it. At the top there was a piece of rope sticking out of a broken branch. I basically opened the door, forced Dean into it, and came back here. It seemed like the right thing to do but we’ll have to wait until Dean wakes up,” Cas ushered. 

And so they waited, only interrupted by Dean’s sudden seizures and the need to eat and sleep on Sam’s side.


	8. Whole Lotta Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam’s eyes were squinted and his face was positioned wrong. His lips were dry and cracked when his spoke. “Hello, Dean. You’re probably wondering why you’re here. I want you to join me, Dean. I finally gave in to those powers that Azazel gave me. I’m stronger than ever. But I need your help. You see, heaven has not been so kind to me recently and having a Knight of Hell on my side would _really_ help. We could become gods, you know.” Sam smiled a smile full of broken a chipped teeth. 
> 
> “What’s in it for me specifically?” Dean asked. 
> 
> “You and I would achieve god status. We could rule this world, create other ones, the possibilities are endless.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Its been a while. I've been working on this chapter for about a week and I've had some serious writers block. Sorry its taken actually forever to update, I've had some serious family stuff happen.

Dean woke up. He woke up like _The Terminator_ , but he woke up. One moment he looked dead while he sat in the dungeon and the next he was twitching his head to the side in little tics while slowly moving his body into a straighter position. His neck looked strained and his head would keep ticking to the left and then back again. He closed his eyes and took steady breaths like he was in pain. 

“Dean? Is that you or is this 2006 Dean?” Sam asked quietly with a hint of sass. 

The Dean didn’t answer. His head kept twitching at an angle. 

“Dean? It’s me,” Cas tried. 

No response. 

They both stood up and slowly approached Dean like he was a scared animal. His head kept twitching while he stared at the ground. His hands kept clenching and unclenching and the veins in his neck were straining. He almost looked like he was… being tortured. 

“Sam, I know what's happening. He thinks he’s being tortured again. Do not touch him, we need to let it run its course. If we scare him, he might hurt himself. He doesn't know that this isn't hell and that we can't just reanimate him. Let him be,” Cas explained with a hand on Sam’s chest. 

“We can't just let him go through that again, Cas. He was in the pit for 30 years!” Sam pleaded. 

“Sam, he’s coming back to us. This version of Dean was more recent than the last one. He’s _coming back_.” 

Sam ran a hand through his hair and started pacing around in the small room. Dean let out a quiet whimper before tears started falling down his cheeks. 

“Sammy… no. Please. Don’t do this. _No_ \--” Dean pleaded. 

Sam let out a pained moan before he left the room, slamming the door on the way out. Cas had no other choice but to wait for the pain to end. 

$$$

Eventually Dean quieted down and went back to his quieter self. Sam’s eyes were dreary and he had explored the bunker to find a cot to sleep on. He refused to leave his brother’s side. 

On occasion, Dean’s arm would twitch or he would blink to remind them that he was still alive. 

Sam had fallen asleep and Cas didn't move once throughout the night. Cas felt like he was his old self: never wavering, never having doubts. It was depressing. 

Cas looked at the clock on the wall. The sun was rising by now. 

Sam slowly woke up and rubbed his eyes. He had been tossing and turning on the shitty cot all night. 

“Any changes?” Sam asked unenthusiastically. 

“Dean’s heart rate increased for a minute, but other than that? Nothing. I’ve been watching him all night.” 

“Great. Have you looked into his mind?” 

“No. I wanted you to be awake when I did it.” 

“Well, I’m awake. Do your thing.” Sam gestured at Dean with a weak flick of his hand. 

Cas slowly approached Dean where he was slouched down in the chair. The gentle rising of his chest signalled that he was still in a trance. Well, more like stuck in one. 

Cas took a slow breath, not for his vessel, but for himself, and gently pressed his hand to Dean’s head. 

Immediately, he was hit with memories that he found too familiar. The grey sickness of purgatory encased his mind. His stomach sank. Dean was sitting cross legged, eyes closed in a clearing. Cas started to panic: Dean could get hurt. Something could find him and hurt him when he was so vulnerable. Cas felt like the surroundings were starting to consume him. His head was woozy and he felt sick. 

He stumbled towards Dean but no matter how many steps he took, Dean was always the same distance away. His vision distorted and his mind became foggy. 

_Dean_ he thought to himself. _Please -- no_. 

Suddenly he was back in his vessel and he still felt sick. His knees gave out and he fell gracelessly to the floor. He felt his mind swirling with bad magic. 

“He was in purgatory but there’s some kind of sickness thats leaking out of him. He’s getting better -- we just have to wait for it to leak out of him.” 

Cas sobbed. He felt consumed with emotion so suddenly. Tear tracks burned down his face. He felt his eyes racing around the room but he was too unfocused to see anything. Some of the magic must have affected him. He felt so sad, so traumatized. _That’s what Dean was feeling_ his mind whispered. _And you couldn't even notice_. 

“No no no. I helped Dean the best I could. He was _poisoned_! He was _sick_!” Cas groaned. 

Cas’ sudden outburst startled Sam. “Cas, who are you talking to?” 

“The sickness has affected me a little. I keep getting these -- thoughts. They're awful. I --” Cas held his head and moaned in pain. “I’ll be fine. My grace is purifying my body as we speak.” 

_You couldn't even help him. You’re useless even to yourself_ , the voice whispered. 

“I’m not useless. I’m _not_ \--” Cas interjected. 

“Cas, I don’t know what's happening but you’re not useless and you never will be. Dean loves you, I love you and that won’t ever change. Just hang on.” Sam consoled the best he could. 

$$$

Dean was shaking, his legs straining, as he tried to keep his toes on the ground. He was suspended by his hands and if he put pressure on them, he could feel the tendons rip. Logically, he knew that his weight wouldn't do that alone, but this was hell and it didn't follow earthly rules. Dean swore he could feel each string of muscle pop and snap. 

Alistair had left a long time ago and the day isn't up yet so he had to wait to see what tomorrow would bring. 

Yesterday was whipping, the day before that and he had his skin peeled off in large chunks which Alistair claimed was ‘art’. He just wanted it to end, but it was eternal. 

Somewhere deep down and he knew things weren't right. He’s been here long enough and Alistair hadn't asked him _the question_. 

Alistair always made a wet wheezy sound before he asked in a mocking voice, _Do you want to get off my rack? Yes? Then just say it. I have to hear you say it Dean, just once, and all of this pain will be over._ He would then proceed to smile with yellow teeth and pale lips and when Dean said no, the smile would drop. 

But why did Dean know that if it hadn't happened yet? He had to be missing something, something which would put all of the puzzle pieces together. He needed to remember, _why was he here?_

$$$

Cas felt his heart racing and his thoughts going just as fast. His grace reached out to listen to Dean’s heartbeat and it was the only thing that was grounding him. He was slowly calming down while his grace purged the magic out of him but he knew it would take a while. 

The gentle _thump thump_ of Dean’s heart was offset by Sam’s racing one. Cas slowly opened his eyes and looked at Sam who was sitting in a corner of the room with his face in his hands, head hung low. He was like a kicked puppy. 

Cas’ body had finally healed enough so he could get back to watching Dean without that awful voice in his head. It whispered things that he’d never thought about before. Maybe it whispered awful _truths_? If he could barely handle the voices, how did Dean do it? He was awful for not noticing Dean’s problems earlier. He didn’t deserve Dean if he was the cause of his dismay, right? 

Cas cleared his head, _no_. The thoughts weren't all gone. He still needed to heal and rejuvenate before he let the thoughts get to him. 

He has to hide these thoughts, banish them, or else it would get in the way of his grace and also helping Dean. He had to be strong for Dean or else he would just make the situation that much worst. 

He had to stop feeling. 

_Stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop --_

$$$

Dean hated being here and by this point, he would have started torturing anyday. He couldn't escape from the pain, the raw feeling that he had to do. It was too much. 

“Please -- please just let me pick up a knife. I’m _begging you_ \-- I just want to make it _stop_! 

Alistair tsked. “That’s not how it works this time, Dean-o. I get to torture you until your soul turns to ash and then I’ll take that ash and I’ll keep torturing it too. You’re never getting out of here and you know it.” 

“Please, please, no! I’ll do anything…” Dean felt blood running down his face and into his eyes, turning everything blurry with red. 

Today he was being carved into again. Alistair had chunks of his skin that he kept throwing into a barrel and salting. _Keeping the meat preserved_ , he’s said. He then began rubbing salt into the bloody red wounds on Dean’s back and legs. 

“Anything?” Alistair asked. 

One moment he was being tortured and the next moment he was sitting in a chair in some basement. 

He slowly pulled his hand through the cuffs holding him and dislocated his thumb. The chains barely rattled. He kept his breathing even and his eyes closed while he did it. He didn't feel any cuffs on his ankles but his chest was wrapped in loose chains. He just had to ever so slowly slip out of them and he was free. He waited a second before he started to crack his eyes open again and to wait for any sounds. Nothing came. He pushed the chains out from his chest and slowly sank down until he was free. He looked around his surroundings and noticed he was in some kind of bunker. The walls were concrete and baren so he had to be underground or in some kind of military camp. 

He was about to exit the room when he noticed the devils’ trap. Damnit, now he was never leaving. 

He felt his eyes flicker black in his frustration. He looked at his surroundings once more before he noticed a lone chair in one of the corners. He used his weakened powers to slowly drag it over and onto the circumference of the circle. The metal legs of the chair made a god-awful sound as he tried to scrape off the paint of the trap. Eventually the trap gave way and he exited the little room into a hall. The halls looked like they went on forever and he would have just teleported to Mexico, but he felt the warding that prevented him from doing so. 

He decided to walk to the left and he eventually came into a large room with a table in the center. There was a set of stairs which ascended up so he decided to climb them in an attempt to exit the war room. They opened up to a door which, with a little struggle, he opened. The fresh air was almost relaxing. 

He stepped out and noticed an Impala was parked out front. _His_ Impala. He decided to continue walking to explore his surroundings. 

The forest was green and bright with foliage. It made his eyes hurt but he continued walking anyway. The birds chirped and leaves swayed in the wind so he didn't notice that he was being followed. 

He stopped and his eyes followed a deer which was jumping away when he finally noticed the man behind him. 

Sam’s eyes were squinted and his face was positioned wrong. His lips were dry and cracked when his spoke. “Hello, Dean. You’re probably wondering why you’re here. I want you to join me, Dean. I finally gave in to those powers that Azazel gave me. I’m stronger than ever. But I need your help. You see, heaven has not been so kind to me recently and having a Knight of Hell on my side would _really_ help. We could become gods, you know.” Sam smiled a smile full of broken a chipped teeth. 

“What’s in it for me specifically?” Dean asked. 

“You and I would achieve god status. We could rule this world, create other ones, the possibilities are endless.” 

“That doesn't sound fun. I like a challenge and what are we supposed to do once we’re gods?” 

“Don’t worry. I have something extra special lined up for you. But I want you to meet someone.” Sam turned around and suddenly another man appeared. He hadn't met this man before. He had blue eyes which were piercing and dark hair which was tousled. Black tendrils of goo were dripping down his body and onto his trench coat and suit. He looked demented. 

“We have waited to meet you. We likes your _soul_.” It spoke. 

“I can't say the same.” Dean turned back to Sam. “What is that Thing supposed to do?” 

“I made it a deal. If it could help us get in, it could have all of heavens souls and the grace of almost every angel. You definitely don't want that Thing working against you, it’s wicked when it’s mad.” Sam said. 

The Thing started to smile at Dean with its sharp teeth and even sharper gaze. 

“Alright. But I need to know what we're doing. Do we have a plan?” 

“That’s where you come in. You are a brilliant strategist, Dean. We need your expertise to pull it off.” Sam added. 

“Yessss. We need you to get to the goodssss,” The Thing hissed. 

“Fine. How much time do we have and who else is on our side?” 

“It's just us. Satan wanted to lead but we didn't want him to. He wasn't that strong anyway so the Thing ate him.” 

“Scrumptious. We liked that.” The Thing said. 

“Why was I locked up in that bunker?” Dean said randomly. 

“Well, you see, you’ve been in there for 60 years. We had to track you down by torturing demon after demon and whatever else crossed our path. We’ve been looking for you Dean.” Sam caressed his shoulder and had an unnerving look in his eyes.

“That makes no sense. That bunker was lived in. I saw food on one of the tables.” Dean insisted. 

“Does it matter? Can’t we just forget about the little details and get on with out plan?” 

“Yesssss, plansssss.” The Thing added. 

“How did you eat Lucifer? He’s an archangel. And what did he waste his grace on, anyway? He couldn't have been weak.” 

Things didn't add up. 

“What if I change my mind, huh? I don't want to help you with your little revenge quest.” Dean sneered.

“We don't like your actionssss. Can we eats it?” The Thing stepped forward from where it was lingering behind Sam. 

Sam held his hand out. “Wait. You would rather suffer than to become a god? You don't want to join your own brother in destroying heaven? Or hell?” 

“No. Your facts don't add up. I don't like this.” Dean started to back away but they both slowly advanced. 

“Fine. I guess if that's what you want, so be it.” Sam shook his head. 

Suddenly the birds weren't chirping and the trees weren’t swaying in the wind. The sun slowly dimmed. 

“Go _get_ him!” Sam ordered to the thing. 

Dean turned around and took off running. The trees all looked the same and even though he could feel himself running, he didn't seem to be getting anywhere. He was breathing heavy from the running and was taking in big breaths of air. He couldn't get in enough air. He felt himself choking. He couldn't breathe. He needed to _breathe_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments fuel my writing powers :)


	9. Easy Livin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean was taken aback by the sudden insults. How could this weakened man be capable of such hate?

He felt heavy hands grab his red shirt. The ‘hands’ were sludge which stained his skin and melted into it. He turned to look at the Thing grabbing him. It’s face was waxy and slowly slipping away from the bone. It looked like a parody of a stroke patient, or something out of a horror movie. The grey of the purgatory-eske surroundings seemed to slip away so it was only the Thing that blocked out his sight. It was like ravens blocking out the sun. He struggled to pull away but everytime he strained he could feel his fatty tissue separating. He was becoming apart of it. It grabbed his other arm and Dean pulled with all of his might. Nothing happened except for excruciating pain. The skin around the black sludge of a hand was bloody bruises which had blood blistering under the skin. He pulled again and felt the blood pockets ripping open and pulling some of his skin open. 

Sam began to swagger up from where he was walking behind the Thing. His face was twisted in pure joy as he watched Dean get chunks of skin pulled off. 

Sam sighed. “If only you had joined us, Dean. You could get out of here, get out of your mind, this little trap you’re in. Face it, Dean, you need to give in, give up.” Sam crossed his arms. 

“Yessss. Come and see what we can do, Dean.” The Thing spoke while ripping Dean’s tricep open. The meat was covered in blood so Dean couldn't see the bone peaking through. 

“No, you’re just trying to make me a dirty deal. You’re not real. _None_ of this is real!” Dean screamed through his agony. 

“Just come with us, Dean. Just accept this like you accepted what your life is. You’re just a little soldier, just John’s stupid toy.” Sam widened his stance and pulled his arm up, parallel to the ground. His nose began to bleed and Dean felt a wave of dread fall over him. He was so guilty.

It couldn't hurt to go with them, right?

But no, he _couldn’t_. He had to be strong; he couldn’t give in to their antics.

And yet, What was so wrong with being with his brother? The one that he had practically raised from such a young age... He couldn’t just leave them here. 

Dean practically fell to the ground in his struggle. The hold that the Thing had loosened and was just leaning against its cold-but-too-hot body. Sam sauntered the rest of the way over, the blood from his nose was speared over his lips and cupid's bow. 

“Now, Dean. Do you give up? Are you done fighting us? Or are you just that useless?” Sam snickered. “Don’t you like what we’ve become? You’re so pathetic that you couldn’t even save us. Look at us: a monster and some Thing. Face it, Dee, you failed us.”

Dean felt the heat of the tear tracks before he realized he was crying. God, he was so right. He’d never done something right a day in his life. _Patheticpatheticpathetic._

“But -- we’ll give you one more chance to redeem yourself.” Sam’s smile was too wide. “All you have to do is to come with us, let us show you what we can do.” 

Dean’s voice broke, “Please, _anything_.” He was so bad, so worthless, so lowly. Useless. He would do anything to fix the wound between himself and his brother. 

Sam must have known that. 

In an instant, Dean felt a hand on his shoulder and the strange feeling which was teleportation. They were in a field of dead grass. The warm wind whipped the tall grass into Dean’s face as he struggled to keep up with Sam and the Thing. They followed a beaten path that was made of trampled grass until they reached a clearing. It looked almost like a crop circle in the middle of the elephant grass. 

There was a man in the center, kneeled in on himself. He had scraggly hair and a material jacket which was ripped in some places, the holes were in the shape of claws. Dean couldn’t see his face but something about his shape seemed familiar.

Sam walked to the other side of the man and pulled his head up by his hair. The man let out a pained moan. Dean was still on the other side of his when Sam pushed him to the ground. His shabby hair flew back and Dean’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t seen that face in years. 

John Winchester was falling apart. His eyes were sunken in and his body was weak. Dean could see the bones in his forearms. But his lifeless eyes were suddenly energized when he saw Dean. 

His voice was hoarse. “Pathetic son. Couldn’t even do his job.” John spat on the ground. 

Dean was taken aback by the sudden insults. How could this weakened man be capable of such hate?


	10. Finding Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had become what John wanted.
> 
> The blade was now clenched in his hand and he could feel every callus rub over the roughness of the hilt. He felt a little better knowing that he was doing the thing that both Sam and the Thing had wanted. He could be in control while also following orders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 三三ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

The greying man turned his face back to the ground like a misbehaved dog. The earth was flooded with old blood around his knees.

Dean could feel his hands shaking again. He had to get out of this space, the tall grass whispering threats in his ears. He couldn’t be here, especially not with his puppet of a father. This had to be some kind of sick set up where the Not-Sam and the Thing had forced John into this. John wasn’t a good father, but Dean’s last shred of hope clung tightly.

The mud beneath his feet was slowly wetting his boots and causing him to the feel stuck with it. His body felt sedentary with thoughts that only blood flow could unblock.

Dean side eyed the entrance to the opening. There only seemed to be one that they had made. Dean couldn’t risk making his own trail, the grass would catch on his body and get him stuck enough that they could just drag him back.

The few stakes that were shoved in the ground would make pathetic weapons and wouldn’t work very well against something nonhuman. The only way out seemed to be running away, and even then, it was a piss poor plan.

The Thing had let one of its eyeballs droop out from its eye socket. Did that affect its sight or was it just going to pop it back in again?

Sam was tapping an impatient finger against his forearm like he was waiting for something. The breeze was the only thing that spoke for a long while.

Dean realized what Sam was waiting for.

John was deliberately placed in the center of the ring, hopeless, with nothing to defend himself with. The blood should have hinted at it sooner.

Sam must have noticed when Dean’s thoughts clicked together, because he held a demon knife out in his hand towards Dean with a suggestive smirk on his face.

Dean swallowed briefly before he stepped forward of his own accord. Maybe his subconscious wanted this more than he thought. The flashback to his time in hell was the kicker to the blood flow that he needed.

Soon enough, his hand clasped around the smoothed wooden handle of the blade and he balanced the weight in his hand.

The thoughts that were once lodged in his mind began to slip out and back into his body in the form of tension.

He could be precise, he could be practiced.

He could be a good son.

The mantra of _Watch out for Sam_ along with the classic demand to be a good son soon hazed over his mind. It didn't matter that the person he was about to torture had said those exact words, they had become his personal mantra.

He had become what John wanted.

The blade was now clenched in his hand and he could feel every callus rub over the roughness of the hilt. He felt a little better knowing that he was doing the thing that both Sam and the Thing had wanted. He could be in control while also following orders.

He was making someone happy for once.

The blood that still dripped down John’s lips had allured Dean so much that he caught himself staring at his on worst temptation. Of course, Sam liked blood the most, but Dean did love carving people up.

The racing pump of his heart was the only thing that could be felt. The blood warmed his insides and made him feel giddy with delight.

He felt like a child on Christmas. Or what he thought they were supposed to feel like.

The wet of his boots no longer made him cold with dread, but helped him cool down from the rush.

Soon enough, he felt a bit of a smile hint on his face. The entire time he had been filled with dread and fear and letting loose was doing wonders for his oxytocin levels. Oh, how he loved this. John didn’t dare look him in the eye, he only cowered in fear.

John wasn’t so smug now, huh?

The blissful ringing in Dean’s ears blocked out John’s first scream when Dean slowly cut at John’s neck. He didn’t want to cause major bleeding, just a little to warm John up.

The blood slowly started to turn the ground into its former shade of crimson red instead of old black.

His boots were warmed by the falling blood and the warmth of having John’s intestines spilled onto the ground.

Eventually, John couldn’t scream or move anymore and had become a bore to Dean.

He ripped his chest cavity open from the bottom of his ribs and cut his heart out. By then, it had already started to go cold.

The palms of his hands were bleeding from all of the sharp bone and tissue that he’d had to rip through. Dean didn’t mind it one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment!!!

**Author's Note:**

> A season 12 cannon divergence. All mistakes are mine. Let me know if you want more; I thrive off of comments and kudos!


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